Fair Trade
by Laume
Summary: The disappearance of one Harry Potter has consequences for several people, not in the least, Severus Snape.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: An idea that played through my head oh…a year or so ago. It's going to be a fairly short story considering I have a number of extensive ones on my hands already.**

Harry the Hermit.

That was what the papers started calling the Boy Who Lived To Conquer soon after the final battle. It wasn't that Harry Potter had vanished from the face of the earth – but he did not respond to any questions, any calls, anything at all. He had sold Grimmauld Place, that he inherited from his late, exonerated godfather; with that money he bought a house somewhere, that much was known, but it was Unplottable, warded against everything under the sun and no one even had a clue in what part of the country to look.

The house in Godric's Hollow that had belonged to his parents remained, but inquiries there only resulted in being escorted off the premises by polite but determined house elves. Questioning shopkeepers around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade made it clear that the elves called Dobby and Winky only occasionally made a purchase in Harry's name, paid in cash and took the supplies with them immediately – no delivery. One or two brave reporters had even entered Gringotts to seek information from the Goblins, and found out why Professor Binns put so much emphasis on the Goblin wars.

It wasn't until one clever journalist decided to pay a visit to Harry's relatives that things were set in motion that would have grave results – and would eventually force Harry the Hermit out of seclusion.

That first journalist accomplished very little. Knocking on the Dursley's door in robes and a Quick Quotes Quill floating behind his ear led to a screaming Dudley, a hysterical Petunia and a purpling Vernon who literally beat the 'freak' from his yard.

This behaviour, however, drew all kinds of questions and two enterprising reporters from the Daily Prophet, both of them with some insight in Muggle matters, donned jeans and sweaters, took block notes and pencils and knocked again on the Dursleys door, pretending to be liaisons from the Muggle government, seeking to investigate the necessity of separating Wizarding and Muggle world.

On this matter, of course, Vernon Dursley had some insights he was more than willing to share. Showing his guests the cupboard where he had kept his nephew until he was eleven, the little prison-like room where he had lived after, and speaking at length about his attempts to 'beat the freakishness out of the boy', the two went away with a very clear idea of how, exactly, the Boy Who Lived was raised.

This, in turn, led to all kinds of questions from their readers, who wanted answers, who demanded BLOOD from the people responsible for the treatment of their hero.

Harry never reacted to either the articles, the questions, or the public outrage. His friends, Ron and Hermione, sneered in disgust at the masses who now were in an uproar when for years, they allowed a child to go through trials not even an adult should have to face, just because he was their Messiah. The masses who refused to see the horrors and impossible choices were thrust upon the people leading a war. They accepted the requests of other European Wizarding governments to serve them as advisors, Hermione researching and lecturing on the cause of the Voldemort wars, Ron working with the Auror departments.

Eventually the questioners turned to Albus Dumbledore, and soon it became apparent that the wizard had known about Harry's treatment there – at least suspected all was not as well as should be. The old wizard lost much of the respect he enjoyed, and while still Headmaster of Hogwarts, he was asked to leave almost every body of government he had taken part in. His words and actions were greatly questioned, and he could no longer protect the one person whose future had depended on his word – Severus Snape. At the very first opportunity, Snape was seized and taken to Azkaban.

The Dementors were gone, but Azkaban prison still stood, now run by Security Wizards. There many of the remaining Death Eaters were locked up to await trial. Three years after the last battle, however, nothing had come of it. Then, Kelvin Broadmoore became Minister of Magic.

Minister Broadmoore had been in the Ministry under Fudge and Scrimgeour, having been taught by the latter. Cornelius Fudge had frustrated him immensely – he detested the former Ministers lack of action and late reactions. He had more faith in the man of action his mentor had been, but felt drastic times called for even more drastic measures.

The wizarding world was in shambles, thanks to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It would require a lot of money and work to restore it. And there was a workforce in Azkaban, doing nothing, being fed from the tax money of all wizards and giving nothing in return. They were the ones responsible for this chaos – they should be the ones paying to restore the situation.

With these arguments, a proposal was soon made that gained great popularity throughout their society. In effect, it was a slave bill. The remaining Death Eaters in Azkaban would be sold to their fellow wizards to work for them and repay their debt. In the future, this would perhaps be a proper solution for all wizard criminals, and Azkaban would cease to cost the Ministry gold.

Albus Dumbledore, of course, immediately petitioned to buy Snape, but was rudely denied. He should thank his lucky stars, they told him, that he was allowed to keep his job as Headmaster. There would be no more pulling strings for him, no more special allowances because of his status.

It did take some time, of course. The proper formulating of the bill required work. There had to be some protective measures, both for the Death Eaters and the people buying them. They could not tolerate outright murder of the soon-to-be slaves. At the same time, the wizarding families taking them in would need to be able to protect themselves from prisoners who had already proven, in the past, to be capable of acts of violence. So the enslaved Death Eaters ended up a little below house elves in legal status – there was a penalty for intentionally and purposely killing them, but killing them in self-defence bore no charges. A fee would even be paid by the Ministry in that case. 'Natural' deaths because of illness and job-related accidents were treated much the same.

But finally all the preparatory work was done, and the first Death Eaters would be put up for sale soon. Albus Dumbledore, while not getting to buy Snape, had been allowed to visit him off and on the past years.

"There is no turning back now," he sighed to Snape, "I am afraid nothing can be done about it. I am sorry, Severus."

The former Potions Master of Hogwarts tried to sneer, but the closed black eye made it difficult. "I would die first," he proclaimed.

"I am afraid that is not an option, Severus. Spells will be put in place to prevent you taking your own life. It is part of the arrangement, so to speak." The old wizard shook his head sadly, "I must say I am glad, in a way, for that. I still have hopes that you will be free, one day."

"I have never been free, Headmaster, and I doubt I ever shall be. You of all people know that better than anyone."

Snape looked away. He was grateful for the old man's visits – the Headmaster did care about him in some way. Yet he also could not help but feel that his life had never been his own, and the Headmaster had played a large part in that. As conflicted as his emotions always were when it came to the ancient wizard, he had to acknowledge that no one else seemed to care very much – not enough to come visit, at any rate.

"They will not let me buy you," Dumbledore sighed, noticing Snape's flinch. "Surely you do not fear I would abuse you, dear boy?"

"It certainly would not be a very different life to what I was used to," Snape remarked, a trace of bitterness in his voice, "and at the moment, that is the best I can hope for."

Dumbledore winced. He reached out and gently traced the bruise around Snape's eye, casting a small spell to ease the pain somewhat. Magic was not allowed in Azkaban. This cantrip was all he could get away with without the alarms going off.

"I thought they kept all of you separate," he remarked.

"They do. The others would kill me," Snape closed his eyes, "unlike the Ministry, they DO believe I was a spy. Many of the guards…well, let us just say they do not particularly care for me, and now that I am to leave here soon they wish to give me a few farewell presents."

"Time's up!" one of the guards called.

Dumbledore took the thin hand in his own and squeezed gently. "I will continue to do what I can, Severus. I am afraid…"

"That it will not be much," Snape pulled back his hand, "I know. I know you mean well, that you meant well all along, yet here we are. Even if I do not take my own life, my life expectancy will be drastically reduced as soon as I pass into my new _owners_ hands."

He looked up. "Farewell, Headmaster."

sssssssssssss

Minister Broadmoore was having a good day. The preparations for the auction went smoothly, and it would appear quite some gold was to flow into the coffers of the Ministry. Talk was the Goblin nation would be purchasing some Death Eaters, and while some in the Ministry were outraged at the thought of Wizards enslaved to Goblins, as the pragmatist he was Broadmoore realized the Goblins could definitely pay more than the average wizard family.

A knock on his door heralded the arrival of his secretary, who looked unusually flustered and agitated. Considering her normal calm, cool and competent behaviour, he was a bit surprised.

"Minister, there is…there is someone here for you, to see you," she stammered out, "oh, dear…"

"Calm yourself, Eulalia," he admonished, "people come to see me all the time."

"Yes, but…Minister…this is Harry Potter!" she almost panted, "Harry Potter himself is here to see you."

Kelvin Broadmoore's eyes widened almost comically, had his secretary been in the mood to appreciate comedy at that point. He quickly rushed to his desk, shuffling and reshuffling papers before sitting down, trying to look as important as he could.

"Do show him in, if you would, Eulalia," he waved her away, "we must not keep him waiting!"

Harry Potter stepped into the office moments later, ushered in by a still somewhat red secretary. He seemed a bit uneasy, as if communicating with humans had become alien to him, and something he did only out of necessity.

"Minister Broadmoore," he nodded.

"Mister Potter! I cannot tell you what a delight it is to see you here!" The Minister would have grabbed both of the young hero's hands to shake them if he had dared – if the other wizard had not made it clear by his body language that doing such would most likely end badly for the one attempting it.

Nevertheless, the chair he offered was accepted, and the Minister waited, a little uneasy.

"I have come to ask you a favour, Minister," the voice was deeper, richer than expected from one so young…but Harry Potter was not young, was he? Had never been young, if the reports on his childhood were even half true.

"Of course, of course," the Minister nodded, "you have never asked for, or accepted a reward for your part in bringing down You Know Who, and we surely would not refuse you your just reward when you are ready to receive it…"

"I have heard about your plans. For the prisoners."

"Yes, yes. We are a few weeks away, yet…"

"That is why I am here. There is one I should like to…purchase. I realize I am asking for an exception, Minister, but I would, if possible, like to make a reservation."

"We will give you anyone you ask for…" the Minister began.

"No. I will purchase him – let the gold go to the benefit of the taxpayers."

"Admirable, Mr Potter, admirable. Tell you what – as a favour to you, I will let you purchase your, erm, prisoner, early. I will arrange for the transaction to be made now, or whenever it is convenient to you."

"That would be appreciated," the younger wizard inclined his head, "I am here now. I realize it is very short notice…."

"Not at all, not at all," the Minister waved away the concerns, eager to gain the respect of this man, who would be extremely powerful should he choose to exercise his influence. "Just tell me who you want, and I will make the arrangements."


	2. Chapter 2

"Up, you!" A boot nudged Snape's ribs, causing him to groan – the kicks that had been aimed at his chest the day before seemed to have broken one or two bones.

"UP!"

As he struggled to get to his feet, his guard smirked evilly.

"It seems you are to receive special treatment," he remarked, "You have been bought early, before the auction."

The thought of having to stand on a platform while people were bidding on him had been utterly repulsive. That he might be spared that was a comfort, though Snape was all too aware that it would likely turn out a mixed blessing.

He had managed to stand when the door opened and the guard sprang to attention.

"Severus Snape, Prisoner Number 9160, incarcerated three years, four months, six days," the guard rattled off.

"At ease. Well, Mr Potter, here is your purchase."

Potter! Snape's eyes narrowed and he glared, which cost him a slap across the face from his guard.

"Lower your eyes in the presence of your master, SLAVE!" the man spat, striking him again until he stumbled, trying to keep his balance while holding his injured ribs.

"Excuse me," a polite voice interrupted, "I believe that is my property you are damaging."

The guard paled. "O-Of course, Mr Potter…just thought to teach him proper respect…I did not mean…would you like him marked, Mr Potter?"

Snape blanched. Marked? The mark on his arm had disappeared with the death of Voldemort, leaving angry red scars that had faded over time.

"Yes, I think that would be wise," Potter said. Of course. Potter would want to show off that he now owned Snape as his slave. Would throw parties for those friends of his, possibly, and make him wait on them. James would have.

"Hold out your hand," Potter said, almost indifferent.

He could not. Even if he had wanted to, he could not move. Then a rough hand grabbed his wrist, and held out his right hand for Potter to see. A gentle tap from the young wizard's wand, and a mark appeared on the back of his hand – a Lily. He swallowed hard. Yet the process itself had been surprisingly painless, very unlike the terrible feeling the placing of the Dark Mark had been. Potter spoke again.

"The money has been transferred, I take it?"

Minister Broadmoore nodded. "Yes, Mr Potter, and may I say we could not have hoped to find a better owner for Prisoner 9160? Very few people we could trust to keep him in check…very few."

Potter did not dignify that statement with a response, merely turning around to indicate he wished to leave the…facility…as quickly as he could, leaving it to the guard to force Snape to follow.

Just outside the gate, a familiar figure was waiting. Snape looked up, both embarrassed and grateful, at the Headmaster.

"Harry…" the old wizard tried, "Harry, please. I will pay you double what you spent to buy Severus, but please sell him to me."

Green eyes bore into blue, the younger wizard not saying a word. After a tense silence, he motioned for Snape to follow him to the Apparition point.

"Harry! Please, you are better than this! Don't do this…don't hurt him! That is not the kind of person you are!" Dumbledore called after them, a hint of desperation in his voice.

At that Potter turned around. "And how would you know who I really am?"

Had he screamed in anger, it would not have been half as frightening as the impassive voice that asked the question now, as if answering an inquiry by a complete stranger. Snape lowered his eyes in resignation. He only hoped his suffering would be short lived, and death came quickly. Of course, he could attempt to kill Potter – that would earn him a quick death, but after years protecting the brat, he could not bring himself to do so. He had promised Albus he would protect Lily's son. He eyed the mark of the lily on his hand. Hers. Potter might own him, but he was hers, now.

"Don't hurt him…" Albus whispered, brokenly, and Snape sent him a quick look of gratitude before Potter grabbed his arm and Apparated.

ssssssssss

Side-along Apparition was not pleasant in his current state, but despite his discomfort Snape still managed to glimpse around. It was a spacious cottage in a quiet valley, not at all the impressive mansion he had expected. The house was large enough, to be sure, but didn't look at all posh. In fact, it practically breathed comfort.

Potter motioned for him to follow and he reluctantly obeyed, not knowing what horrors awaited him inside.

"Dobby. Winky."

The two elves, who had left Hogwarts with Harry just after the war, popped into the hall.

Harry waved his hand at Snape. "You take him from here." He disappeared into one of the rooms off the hall.

The elves regarded Snape. He felt uneasy under the scrutiny, but his head swam, his ribs ached, his jaw was stiffening from the blows he'd received just prior to leaving, and he had not been fed in a few days. He wondered if Potter would leave torturing him to the Elves – he knew full well how powerful elf magic could be. Though the elves did not have Unforgivables, they could most definitely cause pain.

Then small hands ushered him upstairs, pushing him into a room. He tried to protest, but a cup was pressed to his lips – watered down juice with sleeping potion. He went with the assumption that they would need him awake for torture, and sleep was probably the safer option. Drinking deeply, he knew nothing.

sssssssssssssss

It was light when he woke, though the sun seemed to have moved backwards. A few seconds of clearing his confused thoughts made him realize it must be morning, and he slept through the night. As he took stock of his body, he realized nothing hurt – his ribs had mended, the bruises had disappeared.

Dobby walked into the room. "Fessor Snape's awake! Good. Winky is making Professor Snape's breakfast."

"I…" Severus sat up, "I…don't understand. Weren't you supposed to torture me? Where is Potter? Isn't he going to do it himself?"

Then his eyes widened. "Are you going to get in trouble with him for healing me?"

Dobby seemed unable to comprehend. "Harry Potter sir is a good wizard. Never punishes Dobby and Winky."

So. Potter was kind to his elves, at least. He should have expected that. It had frequently been rumoured that Potter had befriended these particular elves while still in school. Winky had enjoyed looking after Barty Crouch – perhaps she doted on Potter, now, with equal fervour.

Winky herself entered the room, carrying a tray with a light breakfast. As he ate, the elves kept near, nodding in approval with every bite he took. It was quite disconcerting, to be honest. He was starting to feel like their pet.

"So – what am I supposed to do, if I am not going to be tortured in the immediate future?" he asked, "Am I to work for you?"

The elves looked at each other and shrugged. "Dobby and Winky is not be needing any help. Professor Snape is not in good shape to work. Professor Snape sleep, and read, and heal."

"I doubt Potter will allow me to vacation," the former Potions Master of Hogwarts sneered.

"Harry Potter sir does not care what Professor Snape does, Harry Potter sir says. Dobby and Winky has made these rooms ready for yous. Shed out in the garden is ready to brew potions."

Winky swatted Dobby at that point in his explanation. "Professor Snape is not going in there until good and healthy wizard!"

She turned to the bemused wizard. "Winky is needing some householdy potions – shop stuff not good enough. Harry Potter sir might have list too – perhaps when Professor Snape is well, Professor Snape could brew for Winky?"

Ah. His Potions expertise. Of course. No use beating him senseless when there was a long list of potions to be brewed. He supposed it could be worse – he enjoyed brewing, and if it kept him from more broken ribs, all the better.

"Winky fixes these rooms for Professor Snape," the elf motioned around her. For the first time, Snape noticed he was in a small bedroom, with a bathroom attached. Through the door, he could make out most of a sitting room. That could not be right. Potter could not have meant for him to live in these rooms – he was his SLAVE, for Merlin's sake! Potter might be kind to his elves, but something like this would undoubtedly cause all three of them great harm. He had better not use these rooms if he wanted to spare the elves who had been friendly and helpful to him a lot of pain and grief, not to mention himself. Perhaps he could sleep out in the shed…yes, that would be better. Perhaps if he stayed out of his way, Potter would forget about him entirely. That was the best he could hope for right now.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Snape woke to the smells of breakfast. Winky put a tray down by the bed and smiled.

"Why has Potter not come to kick me to work, yet?" he inquired acerbically.

Winky seemed confused. "Harry Potter Sir never kick living things. Only furniture. Harry Potter Sir not here. Has gone to visit his Wheezy and his Grangy. Not be here for days."

So. Potter had purchased him, and then left without sparing him another glance. He supposed he should be grateful for a respite from the tortures. Without Potter here, he could recover, and hopefully have brewed a supply of potions before his new Master returned. Perhaps having Wolfsbane ready would pacify Potter and keep him disinterested in harming his new slave?

He should be grateful to be ignored for now. Then why did a small, idiotic part of him secretly think he would prefer being beaten?

sssssssss

The shed, as the elves had called it, was actually a very low, small stone building down a narrow path in the back yard. Getting inside required descending three or four small steps, and Snape found that while not quite up to his pre-Azkaban standards, it was adequately furnished as a potions lab. Post-Azkaban standards, it far exceeded his expectations.

Wards covered the building, and a number of Muggle safety measures had also been installed. As far as Snape knew, the strange little faucets hanging from the ceiling would emit water if anything caught fire below. Despite being mostly underground, the lab was light. An adapted Muggle cooking island in the middle made brewing several potions at once easier – the brewer could simply circle around from one potion to the other.

A cot stood in a far corner. Snape assumed it would be his new bed from now on – before now it had undoubtedly be intended to sleep on when potions needed overnight tending. Though he could not imagine why Potter would have such a nice lab. The boy had been rubbish at Potions, though perhaps his friend Hermione Granger had used it. That girl had a good set of brains and determination to learn. She had been annoyingly obvious about it in class, which often attracted his ire, but he did respect intelligence.

He sighed, and plucked at his threadbare robes. The elves had cleaned them for him, at least. Well. At least Potter kept a few lab coats – he would not have to subject his only set of robes to all kinds of ingredients and potions.

Taking stock of the inventory, he took out the ingredients for Wolfsbane, and for some of the potions Winky had requested. These were rather simple to brew, and he suspected he would have all of them done in a day or two. To his satisfaction, he even remembered a few modifications he had made on those cleaning potions when he was bored.

Winky was pleased with the potions he presented to her at the end of that day – very much at the end of that day – but she did scold him for not coming to the house to eat, or at least call her to make him a sandwich. He almost smiled sadly. The Elves thought the world of Potter, and he did believe the boy would treat them well. They could not imagine that Potter would ever hurt anyone, ever deny anyone basic needs. He was determined that once Potter returned, he would keep his hurts and needs hidden from the elves – he would allow them to keep their image of Potter as a perfect master. They deserved that much; Dobby and Winky had done their best for him ever since Potter got him from Azkaban.

So despite the elves's protests, he insisted on sleeping in the shed, claiming he preferred to be close to the potions he was working on. He insisted on working from early morning until evening, and only ate when Winky brought him food. As long as Potter was absent, he did take time to sleep. He was too much of a Slytherin not to realize that periods of rest may be few and far between in the future.

Actually, he contemplated after a week, this wasn't so bad. He got up in the morning, washed, drank the coffee Winky usually had left for him, got to work, took brief breaks for lunch and dinner, then went to sleep. He was busy doing something he liked, and while conditions weren't exactly perfect, in Azkaban there had been nothing to sleep on but the hard floor, nothing to distract himself from misery, nothing to occupy his mind. Now he had at least a cot and blankets, food, and an occupation. If Potter wasn't going to come back soon, he could get used to this life – even be content.

It wasn't until the evening of the tenth day that Potter came home.

ssssssss

"Harry Potter Sir is back!"

Two very happy, excited elves attached themselves to a leg each of the young wizard, who simply grinned and patted their heads. Snape watched from the shadows of the hall, wondering if he should bother his master unbidden. The elves had not seen him enter, nor Potter, and he quietly observed their interaction. Potter seemed most kind to the elves, as he had been in his school years, but it stunned even Snape when he pulled two packages from his pocket and gave them to the elves.

"Presents! Oh, Master Harry Potter Sir is kind and generous!" Dobby whispered in awe, before opening his gift. Soon the elves hugged Potters legs again in gratitude.

"You're very welcome, guys. So, how have things been here?"

"Winky is happy. Professor Snape sir brewed potions for cleaning, lots better than what Winky had. Professor Snape be needing things though, Professor Snape not has robes or wand. And Professor Snape be sleeping in shed! Won't sleep in rooms no matter what Winky or Dobby say."

Potter frowned, and Snape knew he was in trouble. The elf undoubtedly meant to be kind, but her list had sounded like complaints about his behaviour…

Potter noticed him for the first time, and steeling his nerves Snape went over to him.

"I figured the first thing Winky would show you was the lab," Potter commented.

"Yes…sir," Snape ground out, "I have brewed the potions she requested as well as a supply of Wolfsbane…"

If he had hoped to pacify Potter with that, he had been sorely mistaken. Potters green eyes darkened, and he took a step back.

Snape looked at the elves in confusion, wondering what he had done wrong.

"I am sure the Werewolf Foundation will appreciate your effort," Potter finally ground out, "but if you intended it…"

"I…assumed Remus Lupin…" Snape began to wonder if he was even going to survive this conversation.

"Then you were mistaken. Though, of course…if you were in Azkaban…I hadn't realized…" Potter mused. "Of course you would not know."

He shook his head. "Remus is dead. The loss of Tonks in the war, and his many injuries…he did not survive the second full moon after the battle."

Potter closed his eyes, apparently trying to push back the memories. When he opened them again, he was calm. "No matter. The Werewolf foundation will be pleased to have Wolfsbane at their disposal again."

Clearly considering the matter closed Potter turned away from him, but before leaving for his own rooms, added over his shoulder, "Tomorrow Winky will take you to Diagon Alley. And do use those rooms she cleaned out for you – I'd hate to think she has put in the effort in vain."

Then he was gone. Snape found himself alive, unharmed and even with more than he'd had an hour ago. Winky beamed at him in happiness, apparently sizing him up for robes. Once again, Snape got the eerie feeling that she almost considered him a cute pet, and Potter had just given her permission to go to the petstore and buy a new collar.

He briefly wondered what had happened to his own possessions, his vault at Gringotts and the small house at Spinner's End. He supposed that either the Ministry had seized them, or they were given over to Potter. Either way, it did not matter much. He would never have money of his own again, and in this way he did not have to _feel _grateful, even if he had to act the part, for whatever was purchased for him. He was after all, essentially still paying for it himself.

sssssssssssss

Diagon Alley was hard. People stared at him, decidedly unfriendly, and there were just so MANY of them! Winky skilfully led him to Madam Malkins, where she ordered three complete new sets of clothes for him. Madam Malkins, at least, simply ignored him after measuring him. Then the apothecary where Winky handed Snape the list of ingredients Potter wanted ordered, and left it to him to pick them.

Finally she dragged him to Ollivander's, which made Snape balk.

"Surely Potter can't have meant for you to get me a wand," he tried to reason with her, "I am his slave. I am not allowed a wand."

"You is great wizard, Professor Snape," she replied, "yous can do magic without wand, you can! But with wand much better."

"But I am not _allowed _a wand, Winky," he made another attempt, "and surely Potter knows that. I think you should at least ask him first."

Winky shook her head in exasperation, took his hand and pulled him into the shop.

Ollivander appeared almost immediately, looking old, frail and not nearly as mysterious as he had been in the past. The war had taken its toll on him, too.

"Severus Snape," he smiled slightly, "well, come along. I have a few wands for you to try out."

Alright, maybe not as mysterious as he had been, but certainly just as efficient.

"You are not going to call the Aurors?" Snape asked warily.

The old man looked at him. "Albus has made many mistakes and poor decisions," he said, "and I certainly will not defend that. But he is my friend and I have always trusted his opinion on you, not to mention your actions in the last battle proved it. Finally, you forget, young man," he tapped his measuring lint, "I've had your number ever since you were a little boy."

Snape's eyes gleamed, and he glanced at Winky, who was looking at the display wands at the other end of the room.

"Could you pass along a message to the Headmaster for me?" he whispered to the old man, "I want him to know that so far, I am well, and thank him for his attempt to buy me from Potter."

Ollivander simply nodded, then shoved a wand in his hand. "Go on, give it a wave."

sssssssssss

On the way home, the glares clearly increased – apparently word had spread he was in the Alley.

"If anyone attacks us, do not worry about me, get yourself home, Winky," Snape said quietly to the little elf, "I will not let anyone hurt you."

Winky smiled and patted his leg. "That is being sweet, but they won't be attacking us."

She stroked the lily on his hand. "They is knowing full well what this means."

Of course. The mark of ownership. They would not offend Potter by damaging his property. And even if Potter would not mind too much that they attacked him, he had seen enough of the Hero of the war to know that Potter certainly would retaliate fiercely were anyone to attack Winky.

Winky popped them both back to the cottage.

"Now. You is sitting down," she ordered him, suddenly stern, "Winky is having to scold you now."

He looked at her, uncomprehending.

"Yous is not needing to send secret messages with Mr Ollivander," she chided, waving a finger in his face, and for a moment Snape panicked. He had been found out. She would tell Potter, and then…

The elf continued, and the noise in his ears receded enough to hear her. "…if yous be needing to send a message, Winky will be finding Hedwig or Boreas. Harry Potter Sir has two owls, Professor Snape can use one."

He shook his head. "You still do not get it! I am not your PET, I am a SLAVE!" by the time he ended his sentence, he was yelling.

"You don't get to buy me wands, or clothes, or allow me to send messages! I am nothing! Property! Good for work and to torment! You do not do things that could get you into trouble! Get used to it!"

Winky was opening her mouth to reply when the door flew open, revealing Potter, with a shocked Dobby peering around his legs.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, "Why the hell are you shouting at Winky?"


	4. Chapter 4

Snape paled. Oh Merlin. He had not only lost it with the little elf, who definitely did not deserve to be yelled at, but Potter had heard him, too. He hesitated – if he told Potter that the elf had bought him clothes and more importantly, a wand, Potter might punish Winky. If he said nothing, Potter would blame him, perhaps harm him, but Winky would be safe. Potter and Dobby would undoubtedly care for her and pity her for being attacked by the insane potions master.

He remained quiet, but before Potter could respond, Winky huffed.

"Winky be telling Professor Snape off for sending secret messages with Mr Ollivander when Professor Snape could ask Winky to use Hedwig or Boreas. And then Professor Snape yells at Winky for buying Professor Snape a wand, and clothes! Winky be thinking Professor Snape be sick, still!" she glared at him.

Potter raised an eyebrow and turned to the dark-haired man. "Is that true?"

"I…I…" Snape stammered, wondering how he might get Winky out of trouble while preserving his own hide in the process.

"Professor Snape be yelling at Winky he is a slave, and not be deserving clothes!" Winky stamped her little foot, and shook her head at Potter, "Harry Potter Sir talk sense into him!"

"I AM a slave!" Snape found his voice, and turned to her again, "He bought me and marked me! I am his property, and you can't buy me things without his permission! I do not wish to get you in trouble."

His eyes widened, having completely forgotten that Potter was standing right there in his fierce explanation to the elf.

"That is why you slept in the shed?" Potter ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. "I suppose I should have left clear instructions, but I assumed you would believe Dobby and Winky. Sleep in the rooms Winky cleaned out for you. Work in the lab if you wish, use the library. You may use my owls to send messages as long as Winky and Dobby make sure they can't be traced to here; I've no wish for my home to be found."

He turned and left the room, leaving a completely confused Snape and a satisfied Winky behind. Dobby just shook his head before heading to the kitchen.

"There," Winky said, "now is yous going to be quiet and believe Winky?"

Snape slowly lowered himself down on the couch again. "I apologise for raising my voice to you," he rested his face in his hands, "I am sorry…this has just been…"

Winky patted his knee in sympathy. "We knows. We has tried to make it easy for yous. Would be easier still if yous be accepting our help!"

Snape snorted. "I came here expecting to be tortured. I still expect to be tortured. Instead Potter ignored me, and you…it confuses me."

"We has been telling yous Harry Potter Sir is a good wizard," Dobby scolded, "now, Professor Snape has not had lunch yet. Professor Snape should come sit in the kitchen and eat."

So that was it. Still unsure about Potters motivation, but reasonably sure that as long as the elves liked having him around, Potter would not harm him, Snape followed the elves to the kitchen. Dobby served him some cold chicken, leftover from dinner the night before, fresh bread and butter. A jar of honey appeared on the table. Orange juice. Snape leaned his head wearily against the wall, trying to take in that he was relatively safe for the time being and failing miserably.

A hand on his thigh pulled him from his musings. Concerned eyes peered into his own.

"Professor Snape should eat, not worry," Dobby said, "Dobby knows, not being punished is hard…Dobby found it hard at first, too. Winky not understand. Winky's Master was bad in giving her clothes, but Winky was never punished before. Could talk to her Master, and make him listen. But Dobby…" the elf shook his head, "Dobby understands. Professor Snape be thinking it is being like the Malfoys here."

Snape's lips thinned. "What would you do, Dobby, if Potter bought Lucius Malfoy and gave him to you?"

Dobby's eyes widened in surprise. "Bad old Master? Dobby….Dobby not know," the elf stammered, "Dobby…Dobby be thinking he would feel…glad…for getting to punish bad old Master….but maybe Dobby feels sorry, too, and will remember getting punished was horrible."

Snape sighed. "I am to Potter what Malfoy is to you. That is why this confuses me so."

An understanding lit Dobby's eyes, and with a final pat to Snape's thigh, he popped away.

sssssssssss

A few days later, Snape walked back from the library to the lab, a few books in his arms. He had to admit he needed to research a little – three years in Azkaban had not exactly helped his once flawless memory for potions. As he crossed the hall, he could not help see the door to the living room ajar, and Potters voice speaking to someone on the Floo. That was so rare an occurrence – as far as Snape knew, Potter barely tolerated human company beyond an occasional visit to Granger and Weasley – that he stopped a moment and involuntarily listened to the conversation when he heard his own name.

"…have Snape here already."

The voice on the Floo said something Snape could not quite hear.

"I will send as much money to you as I can, but you and Molly must buy as many slaves as possible at the auction. Ron and Hermione are going to come back for it as well…"

Snape felt his stomach drop to his toes, preventing him from moving. The voice on the Floo spoke again, and then Potter grinned a little.

"I have been in contact with the Goblins, that is arranged…others will donate, too. The trick will be to buy all of them."

Oh Merlin. Oh dear sweet Merlin. Snape nearly gagged as he realized Potter was making arrangements with his old friends to get his hands on all the prisoners-turned-slaves. Mental images of what Potter might be planning to do once he got his hands on them all ran through his mind. He slunk away from the door, quickly returning to his own rooms, his head spinning.

ssssssssss

Ever since Severus had been sold to Harry, Dumbledore had not had a moment's peace. Harry refused to sell Severus to him, refused to talk to him at all. Repeated offers were also rejected, and by now Dumbledore had offered to empty his entire vault, throwing his house into the bargain, but Harry refused to even consider any offer or even reply to the letters. Dumbledore could only hope Severus would manage – the man was strong, but everyone had their breaking point, and imprisonment had been a much better alternative, to the proud Slytherin's mind, than slavery.

It was a few weeks, but eventually word reached Dumbledore through the few connections he still had left that Severus had been seen in the company of one of Harry's elves – shopping in Diagon Alley. His informant said that Snape looked well, but could not be certain that the man had not been charmed to appear unharmed. Ollivander later confirmed this, saying Snape had asked him to relay a message.

Then, later that day, a familiar snowy owl had arrived. It brought a letter from the Potions Master himself, thanking the Headmaster for his attempts to buy him. Severus wrote he was reasonably well, that the elves had healed him from the injuries he had sustained in Azkaban and that Potter had been gone for quite some time, only recently returning.

This missive eased many of the old man's fears. If he was honest with himself he had to admit he had not treated Severus fairly in the past, and that his motives in helping him now were not entirely altruistic. After years of planning, leading, a life so busy that he rarely slept more than five hours a night, the once famous Albus Dumbledore was nothing but a tired old man who had lost almost everything he once had. When he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, leader of the Order of the Phoenix and many other organisations, Severus had merely been one of the many to consider and frankly, there was always someone he considered to be more important than the young repentant Death Eater. Now, however, Severus was all he had left and the lonely years, interrupted only by his regular visits to Azkaban, had taught him a new appreciation for the younger wizard.

As he lay in his bed the week after getting Severus's note, brooding, he heard a swoosh and the flare of the Floo in his office. He jumped out of bed and rushed to his office, wand out.

A dark figure had stepped from the fireplace, and Dumbledore startled. "Severus!"

The former Potions Master turned to him, his face uncharacteristically panicky. "Headmaster, please, help me!"

Severus took a step forward, "Potter – Potter is going to get all of them, all of us…he is planning…he…"

Dumbledore tucked his wand away and grabbed the younger wizard by the shoulders. "Severus, take a deep breath and calm down….there, good. Now, tell me what happened. What did Harry do? Are you hurt?"

"Hurt? No…no, he has not hurt me. He has barely looked at me," Snape's voice sounded high and slightly hysterical, "he is saving me for the right time – when he has us all!"

Seeing that he would not get a proper explanation, and Severus was on the verge of exhaustion, Dumbledore summoned a vial of Calming draught and held it to Snape's lips.

"Sip."

A few moments later, Dumbledore finally got a proper explanation of the conversation Snape overheard.

"He is buying every single one of them, that is his plan," Snape said, defeated, "Headmaster – please. Help me escape. I – do not beg, but now I am…please."

He took a breath and looked up when Dumbledore did not reply immediately.

"You won't," he concluded, "It would cost you all you have left and Potter would prosecute you to the fullest extend of the law for stealing his property. I – I am sorry. I will try not to leave any traces of my presence here before I go…"

Dumbledore shook himself from his thoughts. "No, my boy, you misunderstand me," he reached out and his hand closed around Snape's wrist in an iron grip, preventing him from taking another desperate Floo trip. The younger man looked up at him in surprise, and a little fear. The Headmaster sighed, deciding he had earned that mistrust.

"I was merely considering our options. Staying here will be far too dangerous. I am also uncertain whether or not he can trace you through that mark he gave you."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, still holding Snape by the wrist. "My home can be well warded - it would serve as a temporary hiding place until we make more definitive plans. When will you be missed?"

"I am unsure. Perhaps not until evening. Potter ignores me, but when Winky and Dobby discover I am missing, they will inform him – they think highly of him," Snape sadly thought of the two elves before raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, "then you will take me in?"

"Severus – Harry already took everything I have left. He took you," the old man slowly loosened his grip and moved to take an astonished Snape's hand in his own, "I have only recently realized that. So yes, I will do whatever I can to help you and keep you safe."

He led the Potions Master to a room hidden behind his own bedroom – one of Hogwarts many secrets. A quick transfiguration provided a bed.

"I will need to go in the morning and raise the wards on my house. Doing so in the middle of the night will rouse suspicion. Stay in here and try to sleep a little."

Severus nodded, though he doubted he would be able to sleep. He knew it was only a matter of time before Potter found out he was gone – and then, he suspected, all hell would break loose.


End file.
